A Forest Green Wheelchair
by Marilena
Summary: You know me. I'm the greatest ninja that ever lived. Well, I was. One careless moment and I can no longer hold a shuriken, or walk, run, or- you get the point. Vince says that now I talk more than he ever deemed possible. Jerk, wasting his life with me.
1. Prologue

A Forest Green Wheelchair

Many thanks to Novocain, one of the best beta-readers to be found on this site.

Prologue

You are one lucky person, whoever you are, for I had an epiphany while being fed my delicious brew this morning. I have decided to tell you a story. And it's not just any story I'm talking about. It is _my_ story.

I hope you realize the magnitude of gratefulness you should be feeling at the moment. It's not everyday you get someone who is not even close to being as awesome as I am spill their guts out. Shiver in emotion, stranger. Squint with delight.

With my story, it is easy to spot where the starting point is. Preschool-book easy. Of course, even if it weren't, I am fairly certain that I would struggle through all the mind-numbing, braincell-eating clues and reach a conclusion that would render even Sexy Nursey speechless. Pretty much like when I told him that his mother must have been secretly transsexual, because I saw his weird red eyes narrow in disgust during a television show where a sumo with huge man boobs entered the ring. It's called deductive reasoning and it's one of my specialties along with making a spoon dance the macarena with my mouth.

Because, you know, I am cool like that.

Like I said, I know exactly where to start from. The problem lies with the end. I don't know where the heck to draw that final line.

As you might or might not notice throughout my storytelling (it all has to do with your intelligence, but never fear, because Mammie Yuffie is here to explain everything to you clearly and loudly,) I have a certain issue with choices. Choices are the bane of my existence. They should be all sent to hell. We could even point them at the general direction of Vincent's head to make sure they don't get lost. But until they are out of the way, I will sadly still have them before me. And the insolent little bastards won't even bow before my greatness.

It was one of them that started my tale, and another one that almost finished it.

I guess I'm going to -very sneakily- steal some time before I have to decide about the ending.

Beware; I told you that a choice started this. But choices aren't always on the good side.


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Novocain, and to all of you who read the prologue of this story and reviewed._

Chapter 1

_i. spin_

_ii. fall_

It was a bright and dandy night.

No, let me rephrase that.

It was an exceptionally dark - since there was almost no moon - yet dandy night. I had recently celebrated my nineteenth birthday, Cid had married Shera, Vincent was short one demon, Cloud had finally told Tifa that he was masturbating with a Photoshop picture of her in bikini briefs (in slightly different wording, but that was the underlying message, nyuk nyuk nyuk), and Marlene had mastered the courage to ask Barret what that boy in her class meant by playing 'hide the sausage'.

Come to think about it, I never found out what happened to that kid.

Anyway, we had all experienced a pleasant change in our lives. There was no visible threat that the sky would fall on our faces anytime soon, I had persuaded the Hairdressers' Union to declare that silver would be totally _out_ that season, and most of us glanced at the future with hope in their eyes - or _eye,_ in Nanaki's case.

We, and by that I surprisingly mean all of us, had decided that we were due to celebrate this massive turn of page somehow.

That is how I found myself on the beach of Costa Del Sol one moonless, cold night. Cue a bunch of toads croaking their larynxes out in the middle of nowhere and the whoosh whoosh of the waves as my soundtrack.

No wonder. It was genius Spike who had proposed that place for our special reunion slash party. He had said matter-of-factly that the place was secluded during winter and we'd have the entire beach to ourselves.

In the years that followed, I tried not to hate him for that. It could have happened anywhere.

* * *

"Oh, baby, yeah, just like that...for the life of fucking Gaia, Shera, don't ya dare stop dancing! Ooooh, woo hoo! Didn't know you could dance like that, sugar, you never do those tricks at home. Beer, anyone? ... Beer? ... I said does anybody want any FUCKING beer?" _Plop._ "Suckers, I'll drink it myself. Damn it, doesn't it taste good. You - don't you stop shaking that-" 

I didn't hear the next part, although I can very well imagine it. Marlene had just wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind, temporarily shutting off my respiration system. She was shouting in my ear in her lovely, girly voice that made you want to buy her tons of Barbies, but I couldn't hear her for the life of me. I shook her arms away and offered her a goofy smile as consolation. Reeve had brought along a super ass kicking portable stereo which I had had the pleasure of turning on about an hour and a half after we had gathered. I don't want to sound cocky or anything but it really gave a whole new dimension to our party. I don't think I've ever seen Tifa or Shera dance so much. Or drink so much. The point of this is that with the upbeat tone so loud and so close to my poor ears - I like to always sit in the front row, thank you very much, and if you think that's unhealthy, then you can go screw a trout for all I care - the chances of hearing the little girl had gone out shopping but gotten kidnapped and shipped over to Midgar as potential porn stars.

I coaxed myself into rising from the Buddha position I was in. My feet hit the ground once more, and ninety four gongs rang in my mind at the same time. I winced and cursed beer for being such a must at giant parties where adults lose control and sing the carols by the fire.

Cid must be tone deaf, by the way.

I tiptoed past Tifa, who was doing a wild dance for Cloud. To his credit, he didn't seem to be afraid at the savage-like shaking of the brunette's waist and legs. Or maybe he was in the state of semi-euphoria that alcohol brings you before you reacquaint yourself with the day's lunch and dinner. I, for one, left before she caught me and sacrificed my pure, virgin blood to an ale deity.

My nostrils flared open twice as I took in the multitude of smells around me. It smelled like roasted chicken - well, burnt roasted chicken, actually, because you can never trust Barret to cook - but also of salt and wet wood. It smelled of alcohol and sweat. Candy, too. My mind immediately issued an order to my body.

_'Find Denzel. Steal candy.' _

Ignoring my mind's protest when my body failed to comply, I dragged my feet near the bonfire. I found myself then in the company of none other than Vinnie the Pooh and Nanaki, guest starring in _Thundercats_.

I giggled dizzily and threw myself on a sprawled position on the hard ground again.

"Ow!" I wailed for no apparent - to everyone else - reason.

Vincent kept doodling on the chibi dunes around his rusty golden boots with a thin, wooden stick, totally ignoring me. I was so justified to make indecent thoughts about that stick and his butt, wasn't I?

I know.

At least my favorite furry friend seemed rather curious.

"What is it?" Nanaki asked me.

Finally, someone was worrying about my welfare!

"Nothing too serious," I replied, looking at the naughty bonfire pleasantly. "I just got sand all over my underwear and right now it's getting in really uncomfortable places."

Vincent sighed in silent indignation. He spared me the look that was reserved for when he thought I was being scandalously immature. Namely, it was the only look I had managed to get until then from my spooky, tall companion.

Then something happened. No, despair not, it had nothing to do with alien heads. An urge took over me. In my blissful haze and while motivated by the change of music to something very much alive and quirky, I decided to show them all exactly how grown-up I was with a dance that shall hold a special place in history.

Somewhere in the 'missing' section.

I straightened the rough denim shorts and the yellow T-shirt I had worn just for the occasion and put on my best 'show-off' face. I let my body sway lightly in the rhythm of the song as I put my hands in the air above my head, moving them slowly to the right and to the left. I enjoyed everyone's vacant expressions, and then, all of a sudden, I pushed myself right into the eye of the typhoon. I danced – fast-like and vividly and in all my klutzy grace. I moved like crazy, sozzled close to oblivion, in circles and squares around Vincent and on Reeve's lap. My thin lips were frozen in a content smile, and as I had a run-in with Tifa's watermelons in my lunatic display of energy, the roars of laughter, snickers, giggles and the faint smile from Vincent that ensued all absorbed me even deeper in the feast of swirling colors I was participating.

Three minutes later, I fell, exhausted and cackling like mad, on Cid.

"Cheers, you sorry excuse for a ninja."

"Cheers, you smoking bathroom mob."

"CHEERS, YOU MORONS!"

"Sit down, Marshmallow."

"Never liked ya, brat."

"See that? That's me sticking my tongue out to you. Hey, wanna sing?"

"You bet I do, yo!"

"Cid, wanna sing?"

"Damn right."

The three of us were morphed into one hideous, hugging monster. It is safe to say we were somewhat tipsy.

"_Corel in March, we march, we march, we maaaaaaaaaaarch ahead-"_

"_Wutai, kingdom of bunnies, home of the suuuuuuuuuuuun-"_

"_I'm a rich man, can I grope your raaaaaaaaaaack?"_

"Shuddup, old coot._"_

"_We march AHEAAAAAAAAAAAAD-"_

"Who did you call old, floorboard?"

"You. La la la laaaaaa, yay, Barret, keep it up!"

"That calls for sk- sha- spanking, kid. Hey, get your ass back over here! Arrrghh, ow, ai, STOP THAT!"

"_Shovels proudly at haaaaaaaaaand..."_

"Cid, I love ya, but you gotcha admit you're getting senile."

"Fuck you, brat, I'm the first astronaut on the entire planet-"

"Yes, the first senile astronaut. Now, put a carrot in your hole, either one, and come give me a hug."

"Sur- Oh, mother of fuck- bluuuuuurghughl!"

"Damn. Cid, that was my favorite T-shirt. Are you alright?"

"_...Blurghuuuurg..."_

"I'll take that as a no."

Barret's last note was a ridiculous falsetto. He had chunks all over his dear baby, the gun arm. In the meanwhile, I was trying to keep Cid from kissing the ground, feeling queasy at the sight of the beige mess. But Cid was in a the most worrying state of us all; disheveled, the leftovers of his semi-processed food trickling down his chin, and snickering hoarsely as he tried his best to regain balance. Questioning his future sanity after half of his braincells seemed to have been murdered, I managed to get him to stand. Throwing his arm over my shoulder and hollering at Barret to help me, because I was a tiny girl, after all, and Cid was a block of marble, we managed to distance ourselves from the noisy party. One by one, we climbed the steps. Cid's stubble was tickling my cheek and his breath smelled like dead dog, but I didn't have the heart to tell him. My breath probably smelled like drunk dog, so I guess we were even.

A few minutes later, we were at the truck. We put Mumbling Cid in the back seat, and before we had time to ponder what we should do next, Tifa appeared, jogging behind us. She looked glazed. I bet she was seeing me double.

"I'm not feeling very well..." she admitted dazedly.

"Ya'll have to go home too, girl!" piped up Barret.

I absently noted that his chocolate skin in the dark made him almost invisible, were it not for his eyes. And height. And weight. And clothes. And gun arm.

Whatever, it seemed like a fine observation at the time.

"But Barret, I'm not sure," she whined. "The others are still having fun..." A sigh escaped her lips and her pearl earrings dangled as she shook her head. "What a headache... I need a bed."

"No shit." I giggled at my own comment, hugging my skinny upper body to warm myself up. "Hey, Teefs, is that Reeve doing the salsa?" We both broke into hysterics.

"Ima gonna take you home. Get in the car!" Barret's voice thundered.

Choices. Seconds. Really, how many things can change with the flutter of a butterfly's wings?

I massaged my temples slowly. I wanted to go home too, but it wasn't fair to spoil Barret's fun.

"Naw, Big Man, you go strip tease with Cloud, Reeve, Nanaki and Shera. And Sin Man. You two'd make an awesomely scary couple, ya know? Anyway, I bet alcohol does shit for your system, and it ain't fun to go home that way. Just leave it to the ninja!" I winked at him.

Barret gave me a half-hearted look. He wasn't convinced. I spun around, smiling like an idiot.

"Ya sure you can handle it, brat?"

I made the victory sign and bounced on the heels of my leather boots.

"I'm a ninja, Marshmallow. I can handle _anything_!"

I was wrong in my earlier assumption. Barret must not have been unaffected by alcohol that night. He reluctantly turned his massive, broad shoulders and walked away, showering me his most fatherly look.

"Hooray!" I shouted into the air. I grabbed Tifa's hand and urged her towards the back seat as well, where she could take care of a now-very-pale Cid. Hold his head or some jazz like that. I wouldn't know, since everyone was usually looking after _me_ and back then I wasn't on best terms with the meaning of being taken care of.

I don't remember well what was said next, from the moment when I plopped myself into the driving seat until it happened. I do remember, however, a fuzzy feeling as the world blurred around my vision and the rush of speed made me bite my lip with excitement until it was bleeding profusely.

I was in seventh heaven. I could hear a mix of things coming from the back seat, as my friends, my second family, growled and laughed and shouted and vomited at the same time.

During these few minutes I was content. There were no boundaries. There were no limits. There were endless possibilities. The world was _mine_.

Then came the abrupt _**crash**_ that was neither a sound nor a feeling.

It was a state of being.

We were all injured in that car crash.

Cid was lucky; he broke his wrist as he tried to protect his head from being banged violently onto the back of my seat. Tifa was luckier; she lightly injured her foot - later, while trying to get through her grotesquely disfigured door.

And I, always the klutz, always the unlucky one, injured my spinal cord. At the neck.

* * *

That was eight years ago. Don't do the math - I have a thing about my age. 


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: A big basket full of thanks to Novocain for beta-reading and to everyone who reviewed.

Also, dear readers, reviews are greatly appreciated! Not only do they help me understand what I do right or wrong, they also serve as the best motivation in the world of fanfiction. All I expect from writing this story is a couple of words coming from you. That's not too much to ask, is it? ;)

Chapter 2

_i. whip_

_ii. madness_

_Beep. Beep._

I regained consciousness with an annoying plastic tube stuffed in each of my nostrils. I took a deep breath and oxygen filled my lungs. It was wonderful that I could breathe so easily. Save for the fact that the tubes made me want to sneeze, the oxygen device worked wonders.

But if I was miraculously connected to such a device that meant that I was in hospital. In fact, I was, until just a moment ago, _unconscious_ in a hospital, which made for a far worse combination.

_Beep._

Okay. I will say this once and for all. I detest hospitals with every fiber of my being. Whenever I go to one, the staff seems to think that it is oh so funny to dress me up in those awful white potato sacks and feed me water flambé with traces of a chicken-like material, grandly frilled with pill dust.

So I was in a hospital, which led to the assumption that there was something wrong with me. I thought I could feel ants crawling up my feet. Perhaps I had broken my leg or something. I forcefully decompressed my eyelids and popped one eye open to inspect the damage.

Just like I had guessed, the _beep_ wasn't the censored version of Cid's dialog. It was coming from the stupid machine with your pulse or whatever – you know which one. The one that suddenly goes _**beeeeeeeeep**_ when you're screwed.

There were elongated lamps of white light above my head, and I squinted like a vampire on an August morning. I made a mental note to tease Vince about that. Opening both eyes, I took in my surroundings like the good warrior I always bragged to be. It was a small, private room, one of those that make you think you're in quarantine because it feels like there's only you and the bed in the world. Judging from my angle of view, I guessed that there were at least two pillows under my head. There wasn't much else to note about my hall of misery. The covers of the bed were gray and I yikes-ed at the dullness of it all.

On the bright side, the place was super duper clean. If I were a germ, I'd have already dropped dead from the mere smell of bleach.

Then I took a look at my body.

It was covered with blankets to keep me warm, but as far as could tell I wasn't deformed. I heaved a sign of relief. Now all that I had to do was to get rid of the weird numbness that had been plaguing me ever since I had regained connection with the world. I tried to rub my eyes, but my hand only made a spastic move at my side and refused to move any further. I looked down at it ridiculously and guffawed.

"Silly hand," I reprimanded it.

The sedative they used on me must have been really strong. These doctors could control what you do with your own body with just one freaking medicine.

Worthless, all of them, I said to myself. How was I supposed to get up suddenly and scare the hell out anyone who was waiting outside if their stupid medicine made me feel tired and drowsy like Spike's actual name was squeezed from the one wall of my brain to the other?

Then an idea struck me. People would get materia out of her asses the day Yuffie Kisaragi wouldn't come up with something. If the hand couldn't move on its own, then I would move it! Nyuk nyuk for my evil plans.

I just had to figure out exactly how.

Well, let's not state the obvious. I had to sit up.

I smirked. Piece of cake. I gathered my strength and pushed forward.

I won't even try to describe the intensity of the whipping pain I experienced when I attempted that. It was below the neck and above the back, right between my shoulders. My lips parted in shock and I used most of my energy to refrain from shouting. Blood rushed to my face. A few minutes before I had been unable to understand that such a pain existed in the world. What twisted genius up above had thought about creating it I would never know, but I wished that very same pain inflicted upon their genitals.

Muffled gasps emanated from my throat as I did my best to calm down. Something was wrong. They had done something to me. I was sweaty, but I couldn't fan myself. I realized that, regardless of the effort, I hadn't moved a single centimeter from my original position. I felt numb, number than before, number than ever, and, actually, did I even _feel_ my body at all?

Inquietude crept into the deepest corners of my chest and made colonies everywhere.

I started counting backwards from one thousand.

* * *

I had already reached seven hundred forty two and a half, when the door opened quietly. Two fingers held it loosely in place as the doctor spoke to someone I couldn't see. 

"Keep them outside until I signal you, all right, Berta?" he said softly, before turning around to face me.

If he looked surprised to see me awake, he didn't show it.

"Welcome back, Ms. Kisaragi," he told me very gently and professionally. "I am pleased to see you are awake."

He left his notebook-thingy on my bedside table. I thought then that if he ended up forgetting it, I'd snatch it and read everything about their devilish plans.

"I'm Doctor Sheffield." I didn't have to worry about my bed hair anymore. The guy was _old_. I'm sure he needed a map and a compass to find his own navel.

The wrinkles around his eyes became sharper when he gave me a reserved smile.

Like I cared. If he was young and sexy, perhaps I would overlook the fact that he dealt with spleens and tissue as a profession. But, no sir, my doctor had to be an infused-with-gorilla-cells humanoid.

He sat on the bed beside me, which creaked under his weight. I could sympathize with it.

"Ms Kisaragi..." he started. "Are you aware of the reason you are here?"

"Uh...no?" I tried. "But, Doc, this sedative of yours is a real friggin' bomb!" I made my eyes bulge for added effect.

Doc shook his head sadly.

"You had a car accident...uh, Yuffie? May I call you that?" I nodded absentmindedly, thirsty for more details. "Yuffie it is, then. I'm afraid that's why you're in Costa Clinic." He inclined his head a little. I know he was trying to sound compassionate, but he failed miserably. Oh, well, it's the thought that counts. I can understand now what a draining position he would always be in if he did not distance himself from his patients.

"And...?" I urged him to elaborate and let me know when the medicine's effects would wear off. I was dying to scratch my nose.

He looked at me gravely. His change of attitude was so sudden that I blinked.

"I have some not so good news, Yuffie. Are you prepared to listen?"

"I'm not a five-year-old, Doc. Go ahead, shoot. Have I broken anything?" I asked.

I've often dreamed of that moment – the moment when I waited for his reply in my ignorant innocence. It was one minute before everything changed.

"No... It is more serious than that. You see, as you were apparently the one closer to the impact of the crash, you were the most severely injured. I will say this quickly, Yuffie. You have a cervical spinal cord injury." Before I could protest, he continued as if on automatic pilot. "This means that a sudden, traumatic blow to your spine fractured a vertebra and damaged the spinal cord. The damage of the cord is partial, but it is still very high on the spine. In fact, as I said, it is cervical, which means that it is in the area of your neck. Even if the cord isn't completely severed, it has damaged the proper function of your central nervous system. We did all the necessary exams, the X-Rays, the CT and the myelography, so it is safe to say that this is how things are..."

He paused to take a breath as I struggled to fit all that into my young and, up to recently, very healthy brain.

Doctor What's His Name didn't lose any time before giving me the final blow.

"Ms. Kis- Yuffie... this injury has made you quadriplegic."

I've often dreamed of that moment too, but in an entirely different way. I remember words spoken calmly – _cervical __– __injury__ –__ quadriplegic__ –_ and the need to scratch my nose and an army of marionettes heading towards me – the screws that keep their arms and legs in place are turning loose and then there are things, things with fingers and toes dropping on the ground and other broken things that hurry to replace the old, new dissolving marionettes stomping on the fallen members – and the wood is suddenly flesh, the legs and arms are turned into goo and – and I always end up in wrapped in a dusty, moldy cloak with a cup of hot cocoa under my nose.

Have I ever mentioned Vincent makes a mean hot cocoa? And his chicken soup is like... yumminess. Not to mention his lasagna. The last time he cooked lasagna, I told him he was lucky I wasn't an amoeba. He didn't question why, but I told him nonetheless, because I bet he was secretly selling his soul to the devil with a thirty percent discount in order to know. I've always wished I was an amoeba so that I could have the honor of fathering my own babies. But since I wasn't one, and I couldn't offer that small luxury to myself, I decided to be generous and pass the privilege to him. He could have my babies for some lasagna. I could almost see through his untidy black hair and into his mind where he ecstatically thanked Gaia for not making me an amoeba.

Anyway.

That day, I accepted the words with cold indifference. They entered my conscience from my left ear and exited from the right without meeting any procession in the middle. I was in a nirvana.

Doc studied my face, worried at my lack of response.

"Do you know what quadriplegic means?" he asked slowly, as if afraid I'd explode at any moment and stain him with pieces of brains and lungs.

"It means you didn't give me a sedative after all," I said monotonously. Something was flattering in my head, begging for my attention, but I kept avoiding it like bird shit.

"Yes." He put his palm on my brow to check for a fever, but soon he withdrew it. Fever was not my problem.

Something had snapped the wrong way.

Quadriplegic... What a joke. My dreams were so wild I surprised even myself sometimes. Like that time when I dreamed that I met a chocobo witch with bright amber eyes, who just looked at me and I died. And there was this other time when I was neck deep in sand in the desert of Gongaga and a scorpion was coming my way, but I couldn't move because I was buried. Then I made a big bulldozer come from the middle of nowhere and the turn the scorpion into pulp. You see, my dreams were weird like that.

I grinned widely at the doctor. He was a figment of my imagination – no wonder he was so ugly. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to turn him purple, but when I opened them, he was still white and fat and very worried.

I pouted at him.

"Why won't you turn purple?"

He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a goldfish out of water, and, with an audible _whooompf_ escaping his lips, he took off his glasses and massaged the eggplant he called a nose.

"Berta!" he shouted.

The door opened, and a cute blonde appeared. I wolf-whistled at myself for having such an inventive mind.

And to think that the gorilla doctor had said I wouldn't walk or lift my hands again! I was dumbfounded at my own brilliance and innovative thought. I had taken the stereotype of my self and subconsciously reversed it. I was a hyper warrior. I dreamed of being incapacitated and unable to move.

My small, white teeth showed in a wild show of laughing soundlessly. I wished I could clutch my belly, but the dream was too perfect to allow something like that.

Future careers for Yuffie Kisaragi: Queen, thief, screenplay writer. Or I could even combine the three and become a thieving Queen that writes screenplays in her free time.

"Get Tom. Tell him to bring a wheelchair," he told the nurse tiredly.

Hoo boy. This Tom 'd better be smoking hot.

We waited a few moments.

Tom appeared with a wheelchair. These stupid things were all the same. Black and silver. Evil like Sephiroth.

I'm not lying – they _are_ evil. Haven't you seen what they do to mopped floors? Their huge rubber-like wheels can send a respectable charwoman to bedlam with her mop stuffed where the sun don't shine.

The young man was rather cute, but my imagination apparently wasn't on my side. He was wearing a ring.

He lifted me up - "Wheeeeee!"- and carefully placed me on the soft cushion of the wheelchair's seat.

"Bring in her friends, please. Their presence might help the...situation," the doctor said, still rubbing the eggplant. I wondered if he was expecting a genie to come out of it.

I roared with laughter, and my head, no longer supported by pillows, fell back.

I couldn't bring it back up. I kept laughing hysterically with my head back, limp and with a sharp pang somewhere in my insides.

It was in such a position that my comrades found me when they entered the room.

* * *

I heard a multitude of footsteps as the large group hurried inside. In the corner of my eye (when your head is thrown back, you have a very limited point of view) I saw Tifa's curvy silhouette being supported by Cloud's muscled torso. I saw a massive figure, a slightly slumped one and a lanky body that could only belong to one person. Reeve, I could actually see quite clearly since he was in a convenient corner and distance. I didn't spot Red, but that was probably because he was too close to the ground to which my poor eyes were almost parallel. 

I admitted to myself that it was an extremely realistic dream. Kudos to me.

I was also sure of the group's reaction. Tifa would approach me with her sweet and motherly smile never leaving her lips, and she would rub my back. Cloud would encourage me, making one of his long and hilariously terrible-but-appreciated speeches about strength and dignity and how I could fight it and win. Barret would damage my ears with his rumble about how much I had worried him and how he should have driven in my stead. I momentarily felt like this was a taboo subject for my psyche. _And so, ladies and gents, __the __Previous Subject is now out of the ring; time for a quick ad break and we'll be back before you know it..._ I mentally slapped myself. _This is a dream, babe, remember? _

Cid would call me a fucking dork and shout that I had to get well or he'd make me get well with his spear. Kind, old Reeve would wish me to get well, and he'd promise to make a robot bunny to keep me company. Nanaki would say something deep and meaningful about challenges making us better people. Shera wouldn't say anything, but she'd smile sadly and lovingly from a distance. And last, the strongest pillar in my empire of confidence that my comrades would react exactly like I thought they would, was Vincent. He would look at me straight in the eye and the stern indifference there would be mixed with reprimand.

And that was all. I snickered.

It seemed like all these thoughts had passed with lightning speed through my brain, because it didn't take long for Tom to support my neck and bring my head back on a proper position on my traitorous neck, where it balanced precariously.

I smiled at my friends... and my smile froze on my lips.

Tifa was sobbing uncontrollably on Cloud's chest. Our ex-leader swallowed hard, his eyebrows knit together forcefully. Barret had stumbled backwards toward the door, veiled horror in his dark eyes. Cid, my beloved, dirty-mouthed Cid, who was a pilot and had the most stable hands in the world, was shaking, a faint curse uttered every once in a while. Shera had fled the room. Nanaki, who normally disliked human touch, was at Reeve's feet. The blue-suited man's face was contorted in what seemed like _no-no-no_.

But what shocked me above everything else were the harsh edges of Vincent Valentine's face as he looked at the bed instead of my body, for once striving to avoid turning his piercing gaze on me.

I doubt if Vincent knows it even today, but at that moment, his attempt at not hurting me any further completely shattered the last remains of my self-delusion.

I screamed until my throat was raw and everyone was showered in spit. The clinic's personnel didn't know what to do with me, so Doctor Sheffield took matters in his own, experienced hands.

He penetrated my skin with an injection that sent me gift-wrapped into the sweet oblivion of sleep.


	4. Chapter 3: Part One

A/N: Many thanks to Novocain for beta-reading!

Please, review. :)

Chapter 3 - Part One

_i. welcome to the other side_

This time I woke up with the nurse's bad breath fanning all over my face like an air conditioner.

The pain had lessened, but the same couldn't be said about the feeling that my head had been glued to the body of a stuffed animal.

My new vehicle rolled on the marble with an occasional screeching sound from the tires, and I speculated on the experience of being carried somewhere instead of using my own feet. I was doomed to sit constantly for the rest of my life, so I had to find at least one merit in it. The ground was closer and everyone looked giant tall, but I was always short, so it wasn't that much of a problem. Expensive aromas are kept in the tiniest bottles, yes sirree.

Brace yourself, for the nano-ninja is coming.

Now, really, don't laugh. There is a certain degree of danger. Who knows, I could spit on your face like I did with my friends. Or I could glare at you until you were on your knees in an epileptic fit and your eyes had turned backwards. With so many dreadful possibilities, you _should_ be afraid.

Okay, I'll stop babbling. Back to Day One.

My legs, like foreign tentacles - no more hentai for you, young lady - lay on two footrests, and my hands were folded on my lap. How pwetty. I felt like an old lady painted on canvas - minus the lacy hat. My small, pale fingers looked fake. _Hey, lookie lookie! I'm a tin soldier! _I found out that I could faintly shake my head without alerting my father in Wutai and Chocobo Billy at the same time.

My dear fellow, Tom, took me to a darkish room. There were two leather sofas and a coffee table. I had the honor of seeing Costa Clinic's visitors room with my own eyes. Soon after I had set said eyes on the television, curious as to whether the universe was moping and brooding about my fate, my ex-comrades came in, much calmer and - as a _badbadbad_ voice whispered in my head - somewhat faker than the previous time. Tifa sat gracefully on the smaller of the two sofas, taking the orange cushion from behind her back to her nervous hands. Shera took the seat right next to her and directly in front of me, which I thought was weird since the crazy rocket scientist and I had never had a particularly close relationship. The mild-mannered lady repositioned the glasses on her nose, her honey brown eyes seemingly inspecting the floor for hairs and beetles.

"Nice shirt, Teefs. Did you rob a gypsy fortune-teller? That orange frill is for the win, really," I commented lightly, my high-pitched voice sounding weird now that it was coming from a stiff, unmoving torso. I guess I had already started looking tinier than normal, even so shortly after the car… thing.

Tifa's lips immediately unfroze, and she smiled widely all at once.

She was quick, certainly; perhaps she was a little too quick. But my patience was limited those days, and I'm the only one who's allowed to lie, and she should have been smiling at me, not my shoulder _goddamnit_.

"Is there something wrong? I'm not going to take it from you, don't worry." I guffawed pleasantly, only my tone wasn't pleasant at all. It shames me to say that I, the great Kisaragi, couldn't control my voice. My legendary acting skills failed me. My grin was frigid deep down, and Tifa felt it. Her eyebrows twitched, and a dark, painful cloud settled on her soft features much to my unhealthy pleasure - her uneasiness didn't last long, though, due to the fact that the room was soon filled with the brisk presence of our male comrades.

The men were neither as silent nor as graceful as the two young women, who looked like they were either suffocating or trying to reach their happy places, which were, of course, on an entirely different planet than the one I was on. The guys occupied every corner of the room except for my respectful place on the left of the door. They didn't come anywhere near me, as if their aura alone could cause me a breakdown.

_That's right, suckers. Now thou shalt respect the ninja. You remember how you thought I was unworthy of your respect and attention a couple of days ago? Good. Now drooown in guilt. Be miserable. Try to commit suicide. NEVER have sex again. Have your asses bitten by furious ducks in the park. I don't care. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care about you because, you know, I have to care about me now. _

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was being unfair to them. It was not their fault and it was not my fault, but it had to be _someone's_ fault. Tsk. Such troubling thoughts.

Doctor Sheffield was the last to join our merry gathering. I examined him from head to toe. He was exactly the same as the previous day, from his oily hair to the wrinkles of his white robe.

"Good morning," he said to the room. He was the first, other than me, to utter a word. Some of the world saviors nodded or murmured a reply. Myself included.

Notice something? As in, **me** - the _world savior_. Or, better yet, me - the _incapacitated _world savior.

Details, details.

The conversation that followed was rather boring, so I won't trouble you with it. Because nobody - I repeat, _nobody_ - sleeps in the middle of my narration. The highlights of the doc's speech were that my paralysis was permanent but that with proper medication I could partially regain some sense of feeling in my lower body. If I was lucky.

Which, we must all agree at this point, isn't my strong point. Luck, I mean. It's not like I don't have an explanation: Gaia must have thought I would have been too perfect a creation otherwise. I wanted to tell her, if she could hear me, that she didn't have to worry about that anymore. _Bitch. _

We're both nominees for the title of Bitchiest Bitch in the entire history of the planet.

Because - I have to say it - I _hated _that doctor. There he was, droning on and on about the equipment I had to buy and how I had to use a special chair to elevate me to a sitting position every few hours. He advised me to follow a diet high in fiber because it would help with "bowel management difficulties" (_gee, I wonder who's going to be changing my diapers_), and he mentioned pressure sores (_how great, I've always wanted to use that as an excuse to avoid morning training_), lung and breathing problems (_a friend once told me how smexy coughing is_), anatomic dyrysthesia or dyrenesia or something fancy like that, spasticity (_no idea what that is; sorry, folks, but it does sound quite serious, so I should probably expect my skin to turn aqua and a nostril to grow on my breast_), weight control issues (_yay for fatty Yuffie in the making!_), and sexual dysfunction (_well, you know what they say - you can't miss what you don't have_).

And didn't that sound just like textbook theory? I bet chibi doc had dandruff and a book constantly dangling from the tip of his nose; oh, what an image of indisputable beauty. I wanted him to leave, and I wanted it very badly. It was an itch, an instinct. _Go away. Leave me with my good ole friends_.

And it looks like I am the winner of Bitchiest Bitch, since Gaia had a sudden change of heart. I saw Doctor Sheffield's balding scalp glistening slightly as he turned his back on us and left - he and his special chairs and risqué operations - shutting the door noiselessly behind him, ever the professional, stealthy angel of death.

Deep down, I knew that nothing about him was _noiseless_, not to me, but I never lingered on the fact.

Now was the time to discuss the ten million gil question.

_What now?_

I couldn't take care of myself anymore, so I was forced to throw my treasured independence in the trash bin… along with many other things. Who was I going to stay with? Whose life was I going to bring down with me?

Damn, that sounded dramatic. Then again, the truth often does.

And it was at that moment that I noticed everyone looking at me, expecting a reaction - perhaps watering eyes and yelling. Or a sob, since sobs are really popular in situations like that. Like, I don't know, the Gold-Saucer-on-Valentine's-Day popular.

Heh. But great ninja don't cry; everyone should know that. They dream - they dream of materia and forests and piles of muddy laundry and the _wind_, and they dream of sprinting and falling their butts; and they remember, when it's all they can do - _no_ - they remember catching cicadas on hot summer noons and pulling out their wings _just because they can_. That's how awesome ninja are, but my comrades are simple commoners, so they will never fully understand the superior workings of our mind. In their world, people like me are doomed, because _people like me_ have been robbed of their lives, and now all they do is cry, cry…cry.

My silly, silly friends - aren't they adorable?

I would prove them wrong, yup. Ninja aren't weaklings, and they never cry because they are free, always. Ninja like me don't - ninja just -

They just dream and remember and struggle not to cry.


	5. Chapter 3: Part Two

A/N: Wow. I think my huge writer's block is finally gone. I'm terribly sorry for the long wait! Here's the next part; I realize it's been forever since my last update, so some of you might have to go through the old chapters again, and for that I apologize as well. Thank you for your immensely inspiring reviews. Also, my dear beta Novocain, thank you again and happy birthday! :)

Chapter 3

Part 2

_ii. the first of many_

Things moved fast. I wasn't discharged right away, and that is not to say I would have been of any help if I had been. Instead, they ran some tests on me, all of which were annoying little attempts to grope me performed by doctors with various degrees of cuteness.

"It's okay. I know I'm irresistible. Let's not make a big fuss about it," I said when some middle-aged guy excused himself and calmly took off my gown while focusing his gaze on my mesmerizing _ear_. I was glad I couldn't feel anything when he touched and pinched and generally did stuff to my torso, legs, and feet, seeing as I'm terribly ticklish and that would have ended in disaster.

Yuffie. Bundle of coolness. Never loses face.

The strange entourage of ragged misfits, also known as my circle of trusted friends, was busy as well. I can't say I was always there to partake in the procedures when they dragged their feet in and out of my colourless room, bringing in shiny new stuff. But even when I was trapped inside claustrophobic, magnetic tomographs with a fly exploring the wonder that is my hair (I wonder why. Clinical hygiene is pretty good. I'm not used to having flies anywhere near my hair, unless I'm trotting through a hot, humid jungle for days and days on end and the bug eggs on the roots of my hairs are about to hatch) but even so, I'm sure they managed somehow. Yes, even without my constant _emotional support_.

Real heroes, those boys and girls, are they not?

I soon got acquainted with my new machine family.

"Well, hello, there," I greeted my personal transportation slave: a wheelchair like any other, except it was mine. "Let's be friends," I said. When it didn't reply, I asked Vincent to kick it for me, but he just refused to acknowledge me and my request. I took that as a "no". As if Vince would ever ruin any perfectly good and necessary new equipment he and the others had carried all the way up there.

* * *

It was early in the afternoon, approximately a week after the incident. The official nurse, Mrs. Perkins, had already brought in my snack - two mandarins and some really sour yogurt - and the unofficial nurse, Tifa, had peeled the fruit off and fed it to me. Once again, I felt like the Queen of the Clinic, right until the moment Tifa got a scary, determined look on her face and tried to force feed me the yogurt ectoplasm. When I pursed my lips and turned the other way, ignoring her pleas, she suddenly burst out.

"Yuffie, please! This is no joke. You heard what the doctor said yesterday. You have to eat well, even if you're not feeling up to it!"

"The doctor can eat this thing himself or put it on his face, for all I care. They say it makes for a good beauty mask," I said, haughtily.

Tifa bit her lip forcefully and looked at the other occupants of the room for support. Cloud, Barret and Vince were sitting on the guest chairs and listening to us - or reading, in Vincent's case.

Cloud spoke up, his voice meek.

"You know, this is very important, maybe more so than you think. There are many reasons why your appetite won't be the same, but you absolutely must keep eating. Besides, yogurt is good for you."

You just killed any respect I might have had for you. Way to go, Strife.

"Uh-huh, okay. Do me a favour. Don't spoil your image of mighty cool leader by talking like an old housewife. _Yogurt is good for you,_" I mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "_Put oil on your head to keep the cooties away._"

Tifa put the Can of Pandora down so forcefully some of the white substance flew and splattered on the wall, Tifa, and myself. (I know what you're thinking. It was **yogurt**, alright? Got that? Writing it down? ...Pervert.) She took a breath, and I saw her pleasant features twitch in an effort to relax. I never wanted to upset her, but I don't like being told what to do, or so says the spoiled princess in me.

"This is mind-boggling," she concluded after a while. "A-are you really okay, Yuffie?" she asked me, and I could trace the concern that came with the question. "Every time you act like you don't understand, like you live in your own merry world, I don't know what to make out of it. None of us do. It's still too early for you to accept it," she said softly. "Don't force yours--"

"--I'm not." I knew I looked ugly as I said that.

We stared at each other for a while. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Vincent had put his book away. Nobody spoke for a few moments, and then the brunette gulped down audibly, once, and took her eyes from mine to look at the aluminium tray on my lap. "Just know... that we're here for you," she whispered to herself before she jerked up and left, forgetting to close the door behind her.

Cloud made a move to follow her, but Barret stopped him with a big, strong, raised hand. "I'll go. Gotta fetch Marlene too," he said. "Be back in a while, brat," he threw over his shoulder amiably.

And then there were three of us, but it was more like two, since Vincent apparently didn't feel it was necessary to add his own input.

"Anything you need?" asked Cloud.

Yeah. A second chance, perhaps, but let's not turn this to a melodrama, I thought.

I sighed.

"Sleep, bitch."

* * *

If I said that I remember everything that transpired - everything I saw or said or felt during that first stay in the clinic- it would probably be a lie. It was boring, painful, and full of purple flying-chocobo dreams. I had the occasional fight with the Temporary and Unofficial nurse, Tifa, but they never lasted long. I needed her and she was particularly aware of the fact. As time wore on, I got less visitors with each passing day, especially from those with busy professional or personal lives and those who lived far away. Reeve would drop in at least once a week, Cait tagging along in all of his feline robot awesomeness. Red came often as well, as did the kids, Marlene and Denzel, usually bringing interesting toys I could not play with and furry companions I could not hold but pretended I did anyway. Cid and Shera didn't visit quite as often as I'd hoped, so I barely ever had the chance to make fun of Cid until his ears turned pink. A truly regrettable fact. Vincent - being a lazy, unemployed, and sexless bastard with enough time on his hands to be my personal concubine if I wanted him to - was there most of the time, being the voice of reason in times of need, like that day I insisted on throwing a karaoke party at the hospital's living room.

My father didn't take the news of my new _situation_ kindly. As soon as he heard, he flew over to inspect the extent of the damage dealt to his daughter and thus his kingdom. It was common knowledge now that I could no longer succeed the throne. Unable to fend for myself, how could I possibly ever cater to a nation? His eyes, too, were watery. I don't think he appreciated it much when I told him that I could always be the royal jester.

With Godo's hopes crushed and his weathered old figure crestfallen, I didn't feel too good with myself. In an act of selfishness, which I like to call the Disabled Ninja Daughter Declaration of Pride and Coolness, I cut any immediate ties with him and my homeland. I was no longer their Princess, and I would never lower myself to going back there as Yuffie, their pitiful former Princess. Godo, despite everything and most importantly the astounding lack of warmth in our relationship, loved me. When I made my intentions clear to him, he fought back, completely on father mode. Feeling responsible, even after I had resorted to saying a few nasty words in order to make it clear I didn't want to see him anymore and subsequently mask my guilt, he never stopped sending me more than enough money to cover my living and medical expenses until the day he died – and then the new successor, my first cousin, was bound by my father's will to do so in his stead. It was a decision I well regretted later, but things wouldn't have turned out the way they did if I had taken a different path back then.

Tifa was there most of the time, and she was most useful when I needed food, water, or a change of lying position, which was necessary every few hours. Part of her duties was to call the nurse whenever I needed to use the restroom. She'd also take me twice a day for a walk in the halls and the small plain garden at the back. These walks have remained in my memory as the first awkward acts of kindness that weren't meant to feel as anything out of the ordinary in the first place. There would be many more in the future, but I could only barely suspect that.

In many ways, Tifa (and Cloud, usually with her) was my pillar of security about the future. And when the time came for me to be discharged and I had to be part of a very uncomfortable conversation among my friends, concerning who would be the unlucky soul to take me in and waste his or her life taking care of me - except they labelled it much more lovingly - it was commonplace knowledge that it would be her. I'm convinced that she wasn't aware of the burden she had innocently taken upon herself to bear.

I wasn't very pleasant that day. I barely mentioned Cloud's hair once, if you can imagine that. I felt pressure, lots of pressure in my chest, stifling me. I wanted to run away. I wanted them and their friendship to go away, so that I could chase after them and hug their backs until we were all sniffling like idiots.

Tifa never complained. She just grinned and said "Well, that means I'll have three kids to take care of now," winking at me and expecting a fit of yelling that never came.

I watched her smile fade slowly.

And Tifa was right – she would have three kids to take care of at her place. Except the third wouldn't be me. Two days before my moving in, Tifa burst in my room, her cheeks puffed and dark brown eyes glistening even in the half-dark.

She was pregnant.

And so our plans went to hell with the expected arrival of the Strife baby. Never before had I thought a name could laugh so ironically at me from my friend's still very flat belly.


	6. Chapter 4

A/N: Faster updates, I needz it.

Chapter 4

_i. ready, go_

_ii. yes?_

"Vincent."

"Vincent, my Highness is speaking. Pay attention."

_Cricket_.

"Vincent, this is not funny. You can't be contemplating her stupid idea. Tifa, I love you and your leathery awesomeness, but I want you to know that you are also officially stupid and you should now plunge into his head and remove the thought you planted inside. By the way, there are things in there. Creepy things. Things that bite. Just thought I should let you know before you pack your things and begin your voyage. Love ya. Get me a deranged gory souvenir."

_Cricket_. _Cricket_.

"Vincent - " I started again, expecting a good old "Enough with yer damn Vincents, brat!" from Cid. I did get my interruption, but it was soft and mellow like dog crap.

"It's okay," Tifa said. "I get it. It's a tough call, but it'll be much better for both of us if there is someone there to help."

She sounded so tender and confused that I wanted to hug her like she was my young Auntie Suzie, who never existed but in the back of my sexy head.

"Chocobo-head. Why can't it be Chocobo-head? He lives there anyway."

"He's gone most of the time. There are so many of us now - running the bar isn't enough anymore. He's doing much better with the delivery service, but it's not easy for him, and he's always so tired when he comes home."

"Yeah, fine. I can see that." I looked sideways at her belly. "Whatever." I sighed. "Where is my milk?"

Tifa pulled the thin linen blanket a little higher over my shoulders. "I'll go get the nurse."

I was finally leaving the clinic in a few hours. The door to the hall was half-open. I could hear them all outside, waiting, listening, and talking. Their voices, in all their different range-y glory, erupted and hushed like the buzz of striped honey bees coming and going on a gloomy afternoon.

I'm not sure what I had expected. Maybe I was hoping that Reeve would pull a magical solution out of his hat like a fluffy little bunny (everyone knows he must have a tall hat – he wears a suit and he has a goatee, duh!), or that Cid would have a near-death vision when he coughed his lungs out, assuming that didn't happen in two billion years. I was half expecting them to dispatch me back to Godo, despite my wishes. Maybe they'd look for an apartment and a permanent nurse for me.

I was right about the last one, in a way. Oh, Tifa can be so creative sometimes.

No kidding.

Here is what happened.

* * *

"What if... she temporarily moves in with us and someone comes along to help until we find her a new place?" the fairly tall woman suggested as she turned around to face the small group which was forming a circle around my bed, like I was something glorious and they were my multi-coloured, mouth-flapping half-halo. (Yeah, I like dashes. Shut up.)

"You mean, an aid or something? A nurse?" That was Barrett.

"That's not exactly what I was thinking."

"_Good_, 'cause a nurse would get her nursey ass outta there as soon as she met this one."

"Cid, sniff my feet for me. Tell the big lump of meat they're not smelly," I interjected.

"...What in the name of Gaia's holy fucking buttocks are you talking about, kid?" Cid was not impressed.

When we all started talking together, Barrett, Cid, me – oh, and Cait Sith, because he's a nosy robotic cat – Tifa's raised voice finally managed to top ours after a few minutes of us returning to our monkey roots.

"Yuffie! Don't you care what happens?" she tried to reprimand me.

"Nurse, gotcha," I said off-handedly.

"That's **not** what I said." Tifa was suddenly starting to scare me. It's such a fast transformation with that woman. One moment she's nice and kind, and the next she's nice and ohmygoditburns. I think the fact that she's still nice when angry is the scary part. Her anger is sincere and straightforward, and she always stands completely still as she stares at you with her steady, warm eyes. Her anger doesn't make you angry.

I blew an imaginary bubble at her, and she stared at me for a couple of seconds until her face relaxed. I could see this was very important to her and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why.

"What were you saying?" Reeve asked as he plopped down in one of the cheap wooden chairs.

She sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out as if to torture any onlookers such as yours truly.

"I don't think a nurse would be a good idea. She needs – you need to adjust, Yuffie. It hasn't worked very well so far, and I don't think you'll be able to cooperate with a nurse at first."

"I think I've adjusted perfectly fine, thank you. The pain is almost gone and I'm starting to regain control of my fingers and feet."

"That's the meds," Tifa said kindly. She leaned in. I could almost smell the coffee in her breath. "I'm sorry, Yuff, it's not so easy."

"Yeah, I think I know that. I've had a nurse change my underwear how many times now? And she always has that sickly sweet smile, it makes me wanna whack her in the head. I mean, I would - "

Tifa shook her head.

"One of us."

At that moment, Cid dropped his cigarette and Red stopped wiggling his flaming tail.

"Sounds like a sacrifice to the Mighty God of Rain to me,"I said.

She looked around fervently.

"It'll only be for a few weeks..."

I really didn't want to be there. Tifa's intentions were good, but I didn't want to test the limits of my friendship with everyone. It made me feel awkward, like there were a thousand ants tickling my chest from the inside. It was painful, watching them struggle, the will to help me on one hand and their busy, very much alive lives on the other. It could hardly be temporary.

It was hurting me.

"No can do," I said cheerfully.

"But -"

"I don't need anything!"

"Stop playing the martyr." It was a deep sound, one that came from the far left corner. Before I could close my shocked mouth, he spoke again. "You're not convincing anyone. You need help, and you'll have it."

Before I could voice my protest, Shera beat me to it. I almost fell over with surprise. Almost, because y'know... Anyway.

"I don't think she's doing anything wrong. I think... I think she's... very strong," she murmured.

Vincent stepped out of the shadows like an abstract figure made of dust and swirling black doom. Or so my brain told me. His lips were taut, but his voice was as smooth and controlled as ever.

"She needs to be stronger."

"I'm not a sumo wrestler. And I sure as hell won't show you my new ninja moves, 'cause I don't want to dazzle you into blindness and back. So don't assume you know everything about me or you'll regret it when I hand your ass over to you," I said darkly.

He had what I assume was a "See? That's what I'm talking about." look on his face. Stupid prick. As if he'd proven anything. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who is going to do it then?" Red asked, cutting to the point. "I'd do it, but it's physically impossible for me." I recklessly tried to strain my neck so that I could look at him. It made me flinch. He must have noticed, because he boldly climbed on the foot of my bed, and at that moment, I loved him.

I'll always consider him closer to understanding me than anyone else. Red and I have both tasted something unique. It's like a moment you know is never coming back, like melted ice-cream on a hot summer trip to the countryside – it's a shady feeling. Loneliness is sneaky. You can feel it lurking, and you run; you run away from it and into your brightest memories and fragile thoughts and you hope it doesn't find you. You build yourself a castle to hide from the threat, this fear, and you keep the boogieman out with all the other scary monsters of the mind, until, eventually, time passes. You forget about it. You forget it ever existed. And then it lurches at you from some forgotten corner inside you made of spiderwebs and tears and bad report cards.

Of course, I didn't know that at the time. I just knew that I loved him in all his questionably feline greatness.

"It's okay. I never liked you anyway." I grinned at him, my best no-good smirk. His eye seemed amused.

"So, other than the fact that I don't need any of you," I said, looking at Vincent pointedly, "let me give you another reason why your plan is good but also utterly crap. Red is not eligible. Reeve is too busy to get a girlfriend, and I doubt we'd be able to imprison him in Seventh Heaven for weeks. Cid and Shera are an item, a newly-packaged one too, so it'd be awkward and absolutely ew to share a room with them."

Cid snorted.

"Don't worry, brat, you're a libido killer and a pretty darn effective one at that," he said, to which I kindly replied that I didn't want to take any chances because mentally-scarred ninjas are not cute - oh, and, by the way, Cid? Die.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying. Barrett is even busier than Cloud. I mean, he's so busy Marlene is staying with you guys! Do you see the oxymoron here? Oxymoron. Now, that's a funny word. Say it ten times in a row as fast as you can. Three, two, one, go: oxymoron oxymoron oxymoron oxylloron oxymolor -"

"That leaves..." Tifa paused. I could almost hear the drumroll in the distance. "Vincent. He's the only one who has enough free time - "

"Ha ha. As in no." I blinked repeatedly.

"Yuffie! Why not?"

"He's creepy and he smells like Grandpa and Grandpa's closet. Simultaneously."

Someone snickered. My bet was on Cait. (Reeve, you sneaky bastard, you.)

Tifa tried her best to ignore me.

"I know it is sudden and a little too much to ask, but what do you think, Vincent? I'm sorry it had to come to this, but I want Yuffie in the house right now and I don't trust a stranger to spend time with her," she said.

You'd think this is the moment when he'd cave in and express his endless loyalty to poor little Yuffie in long, flowery sentences, which I would, of course, kindly reject, because I'm cool and independent and in-your-face like that.

Nope.

Vincent then turned his stupid face away and stared outside the window for at least five minutes.

Which leads us to the crickets and Tifa fetching me my milk.

It only took her a few moments to come back with a short blonde nurse (who was apparently very bored as she was scrunching her shoes against the hard tile floor) in tow.

I was already gulping down the milk from the glass the bored nurse was holding up against my lips when I saw his shiny, black-and-white head turn around and nod apprehensively.

Tifa was grinning like mad until she noticed I was choking on my milk.

* * *

We only spent two weeks with Tifa and Cloud.

Why, you may ask. I'll enlighten you. All in due time, buddy. (No, that isn't an excuse for a long ramble, and if you're not interested, no one is forcing you to read my notebook, okay? Okay? Okay, don't go... I'll be a good ninja and shut up now.)

It's not an altogether very shiny moment in the story of Yuffie Kisaragi's Epic Tale of Glory and Sorrow, so let me focus on my exodus first.

That evening I watched as the pasty white walls of Costa Clinic rolled by, left behind hopefully forever. I had spent many a day in there feeling like a sly little kid, stranded while playing hide and seek, trying not to think or breathe or be scared.

My friends must have spent a small fortune on the cheap inn nearby, the one Cait would tell me funny ghost stories about every day until eight in the evening, when the patrolling clinic personnel would announce that all visitors were to leave except for the one watching over me at night, only to have me stick my tongue at his no-fun back. I had heard a lot about that inn from the forbidden outside world. And then I was able to see it for myself, as we stepped out of the building and into the warm, humid air of Costa del Sol. There it was, perched on a tiny slope right across the street, looking worn and ugly even in the discreet late evening glow.

It felt nice. They were all with me, gathered around like a protective nest of skin scarred from years of battle and all kinds of laughter. Things were the same.

Things would never be the same. But they were there.

And I _was there_.


	7. Chapter 5

A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Novocain, and to those who have reviewed. Your support really makes a difference.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_i. they're hungry_

_ii. iceberg_

If things were to be done right, Tifa's bar would have to be taken down and built again to accommodate my needs. The stairs would be the first to go, followed by all unnecessary furniture that makes rotating a cool vehicle like mine a pain in the behind. There would be a big Christmas tree all year long and a room for live-in, exotic masseurs. This, as I was told, was not possible. There seems to be a scandalously sparse concentration of exotic masseurs here in comparison to Costa Del Sol. It's a real pity.

My personal quarters consisted of a duvet with a straw mattress, a lot of booze, and many cushions in the corners of the room, which had no use whatsoever. But they were colorful, so I didn't mind their presence. This old, tacky matchbox was the bar's storage room, where they kept – guess – the booze. That's right. I was in Alcoholic Heaven. To be perfectly precise here, it'd be considered a wee closer to Alcoholic Hell if I were a real alcoholic, because the bottles were out of reach. It would be like perpetually hanging mid-air from the ceiling of a room with a floor made entirely out of melted milk chocolate. Thank Leviathan I'm not an alcoholic and the floor wasn't made of chocolate, or I'd be begging to lick the soles of everyone's shoes. And then I'd be begging for a tongue transplant. But enough of that.

It was decided that I'd sleep there during my stay at the bar because, apart from the three steps at the front door, which couldn't be avoided, there were no extra stairs involved. The storage room was to the left of the bar, so Tifa could easily keep an eye on me in between taking orders, preparing drinks, serving said drinks, and breaking up drunken brawls. Ah, the glamorous life of a bartender, where you have to sport a new outfit everyday because last night's still has vomit chunks and other stains of dubious origins on it.

Vincent did, in fact, stick close by, even though it wasn't necessary. He occupied his usual room on the second floor, an isolated little thing with a grandma wallpaper that only the likes of him would pick. I mean, what is _wrong_ with him? Grandma wallpapers can only be tolerated, let alone appreciated, by grandpas, and that is because they are emotionally attached to them. The dude's seriously not cool. He's like a depressed dinosaur with a big gun. Yeah. He is a Moodysaurus.

The first day I got there, I was feeling a strange flutter in my chest, and I realized that I had been longing to return to a familiar place. I wouldn't go so far as to call it home, but it was close enough, what with the thick, dark wood everywhere and all the memories. It was a short trip down Memory Lane.

"Hey, Vince, look! Remember the carpet I helped Marlene destroy with watercolors once? This is where it used to be."

"You must be very proud."

"I am, in fact. Thank you. Turn right. I want to see the table with Cid's penis drawing on it."

"We already went there. Twice."

"And we'll go once more. Come on, Vince, let's go faster. Unleash the power of those horses. Neigh! Neigh!"

And so that morning went by blissfully. Since there was no closet in the storage room, my clothes were hung in one of the closets upstairs, and we agreed that Tifa would consult with me before picking one every morning. By four in the afternoon, I was growing tired of watching everyone come and go, carrying around suitcases, bar supplies, groceries, children, and chocobos. I was stranded in front of a TV I had no interest in watching for once.

I didn't know what I wanted to do. I was still too numb to properly move my arms, even though I had been steadily regaining feeling and minor movement in my fingers and wrists. The doctors had said that I would probably be able to sufficiently move my hands again, if all went according to plan. I would be able to write, probably, and perhaps move my hands on my lap, but there was no guarantee I would lift them again. I was on strong medication, and I had regular sessions with a physiotherapist scheduled in the near future. But, I was numb. And worst of all, the _itch_ was back.

The itch - now that's a bad thing. It's one of the bad things you don't even want to think about because you're afraid it might get to you. Truth be told, it's nothing fancy. Just an unsettling sensation somewhere in your gut – like when you're bored and everything is sort of hazy in your head, and you want to do something but don't have the energy to. It keeps nagging at you – _do me, do me, do me,_ like a Midgar whore – but you can't. And it would be fine if you knew why, but you don't. And that's what drives you crazy.

That's what I mean when I say _the itch_.

I had my eyes shut, doing my best to ignore it, when I felt wool graze my cheek. I opened my eyes in time to see a small hand appear on my armrest.

"Tifa said I should come over and ask you if you need anything," the little girl said sincerely.

"I'm fine, Marles. Tell Tifa not to worry. Whatever could I possibly need? I have an entire TV at my disposal. I couldn't be happier."

Marlene's pointy ponytail bounced up and down as she nodded in agreement. I felt instantly bad for saying such a thing to a person who couldn't even spell sarcasm yet, let alone understand it. I started wondering if I'd ever been like this before. I couldn't remember. However, something didn't _feel_ right, a bit like the itch – but no, this was more poignant. I knew what it was about. Evolution was taking me down a slippery path. I'm a new person every second of my life, like a mutant shape-and-mind shifter, like everyone else, and I didn't like last second's person. I'm like a five-foot-something whirligig. All it takes is a strong wind, and I can't stop spinning. Not only that, but I can no longer tell my tips apart, and I'm not sure I can spin at a controllable speed. I might never be able to define my parts, what makes me _me,_ as long as the wind blows. And that's a scary thought.

I vowed to make a conscious effort to change a little something. It'd have to be little, of course, because the thing that triggered this was little as well, smaller than a kid leprechaun, and I can only afford to give as much as I take. Or I can pretend to stand by my principle while I can only take, take, take and give nothing in return.

Next second's Yuffie wouldn't be a grumpy bitch. And then maybe I could like her again.

And then maybe the world could like her again.

"Are you crying, Auntie?"

I let out a short, bark-like laugh.

"Of course not. I'm too perfect to cry. But call me Auntie again and _you_'ll cry."

"Oh." Marlene's grins were shy and sweet. She'd be legendary jail bait in half a decade, almost as good as me.

"Why are you staring at the tequila bottle like that?"

"I don't like blinking."

Marlene bit her lip.

"Do - " She hesitated. "Do you want me to wipe that for you, Auntie?"

I swallowed.

"Yes." She stood on her toes and stretched toward me. Her thumb was tender and a little sticky on my cheek. I briefly wondered about hygiene and substances usually associated with kids, but I didn't really mind.

"That too?"

"_Yes._ And what did I say about you calling me Auntie, you horrible brat?"

She giggled. I snorted. She laughed, and then I laughed. We laughed together and she hugged me, and there were a few more _thats_ on my cheeks, but this time, she didn't ask before wiping them again.

. ... .

I got a taste of the troubles lying ahead that very same night.

It was partly my fault. I had insisted that I wouldn't need 'surveillance' during sleep. Even if I wanted a glass of water or to use the bathroom, I had a PHS in my palm with a finger on Tifa's speed dial. Other than that, it was just sleep. I've always slept like a log.

Surprisingly, it was Vincent who was opposed to the idea. He pointed out that when I was at the clinic, the nurse used to wake me up at three in the morning to give me the painkillers that allowed me to sleep unperturbed. This was, of course, true. Still, I had faith in those painkillers. I believed in them and their ability to knock me out throughout the entire night even if I took them before midnight. Vincent didn't share my sentiments. He was forced into submission when I threw the let's-just-try-it-out-this-once-please card at him, but he still made a stiff face during dinner, which almost insulted Tifa because she mistook it for an indirect insult at her chicken fillet.

At eleven thirty sharp, I bid everyone goodnight ("And be good! Your room is directly above mine." - after the kids were gone) and beckoned Vincent to lift me. Being able to fearlessly order him about my person was a source of endless amusement and satisfaction. I was planning on testing our impromptu arrangement's limits eventually.

Did I just use adult language? Did I just use _adult language_? I've been hanging around him too much. Oh Leviathan. What if it sticks? Blueberries, materia, monkey balls! Cake! Kwel! Bling! Monkey balls!

Phew.

Okay, back to what I was saying. Vincent picked me up with minimal effort ("Thank you, thank you, yes, I'm naturally thin. I've always been like this. Oh Miss Judge, is that a new shade of blush or are you going green with envy?") and carried me to the duvet. Up close, his cloak looked like a homeless person's spare blanket. Flyaway threads were tickling my nose. It smelled of Vincent, a bit like wet soil – totally a euphemism for mud – and someone's old eau de toilette.

"When was the last time you washed this thing?" I asked as he positioned me on the mattress, butt first.

He didn't need to look at it. Instead, he pulled down my legs and moved my torso a little to the left, so that my neck was positioned nicely on the pillow. I was already in my pajamas. I had asked Tifa to help me change into something more comfortable before dinner.

"I don't remember."

"You should work on that reply a little. It makes people think you're gross."

"People?"

"Okay, it makes _me_ think you're gross."

A spot somewhere near his cheek and mouth twitched. I found myself wondering if he had dimples and then wondering how ridiculous he'd look if he really had dimples.

"Can't be helped," he said.

"Oh?" I lifted an eyebrow. "So you don't care what I think?"

"Should I?" he asked while smoothing the covers over me.

"Hell yeah! If I say you're gross, you should give a damn. A big damn. Like, like – thiiiiiiis big. Imagine that was something ultra big. Hey, when was the last time you bathed?"

"I... don't remember?" he offered.

"You're shitting me."

There it was, that twitch again.

"Sleep," he said simply, a tall figure with a silly headband making two black curtains out of his hair, towering over my bed. What an odd man.

"Smile."

He looked at me inquisitively, and I could tell that he was getting tired of this.

"Fine, don't smile. I know about your dimples anyway. Your secret is perfectly not safe with me."

"Goodnight, Yuffie," was all he said, and then he left the room.

I looked at the ceiling. If my inner clock was right, Tifa and Cloud would be lying in bed now. I hoped they'd feel my burning gaze on their back and take my advice to stay good. I didn't want to be showered in debris. I mean, come on... _mako enhanced_. Wink wink, nudge nudge. You have to be mentally prepared for everything. I prayed that Tifa's vagina would hold. Imagine waking up one day to find your severed uterus between the sheets. It'd be hilarious.

As I was thinking these happy thoughts, I waited for sleep to take over, sleep that didn't come easily but easily went. It felt like only a moment had gone by in limbo when I awoke again.

My mouth was in desperate need of something fresh and wet. My back hurt. My left foot was itchy. I was annoyed. And the PHS had slipped out of my hand.

Is that your dream wake up call or what?

I tried to remember happy thoughts, like Tifa's severed uterus, but I was running out of patience. In a pitch black storage room with a stupid little green light from the stupid Mosquito Killer, it was a different world. A magical world. And I was quickly turning into a witch.

It's hard to describe what's so unbearable about being a little too uncomfortable, alone, and unable to do something about it in the middle of the night. There are no distractions. No people to make fun of, no decorative patterns to study, nothing but the _thoughts_. I hate the thoughts. They disturb the balance; they break the silence.

Even now, they haunt me.

The thoughts make me feel like a helpless child, and before I know it they have turned into big, shadowy monsters. Children are terrified of monsters, and the monsters know it, so they feed off of that fear like giant leeches.

I was panting, whimpering, mumbling to myself. I was sitting on the tip of the iceberg, trying to submerge it in water, quickly, so that it wasn't there anymore in a way you could see, but that's a little impossible, huh? Panic and pain merged into strong fits of desperation. I huffed and screeched silently like a drowning cat.

I thought I saw someone step into the room. The monsters. They had come to get me. I sobbed.

Vincent's hand found its way to my forehead, and the sudden weight on my head stopped me from thrashing - weakly at that, like a pathetic excuse of a girl. My dreams were ribbons, torn ribbons of some unknown rich fabric that some smiling, fat clown was munching before my eyes. His eyes full of malice, his mouth a black hole with rotten teeth, swallowing my ribbons, swallowing my dreams...

I was in someone's arms.

He was silent. There was a glass of water in his hand, now half-spilled.

"I thought you might get thirsty."

I gulped. As he held the glass up to my lips and I felt cool water slide down my throat, a stray sob echoed from somewhere deep in my chest.

I glanced at Vincent and found eyes that spoke of many years, long years that his ageless face could never betray. He got us both up and placed me on the bed again, changing my position so that my aching limbs would rest.

"Try to sleep again. I'll be over there." He pointed at the stack of cushions in the corner.

"Don't _you_ need to sleep too?" My voice was raw, like the scratch marks from the monsters.

He plopped down with the tiniest of sounds.

"I don't need more sleep than I've already had. Rest."

He didn't wipe my tears. But it was okay.

As I tried to let my matted eyelashes lull me back to sleep, I couldn't help but notice the dark, unmoving shadow not too far away. I thought I saw it smile at me, a malicious grin, wet ribbons hanging from its open mouth.

But it was okay. It didn't have dimples.


	8. Chapter 6

A/N: Previous author's note deleted. I was never meant to be up for long, being so personal, and I figured it was read by the people it was meant to be read by. Sorry for the double alert!

Many thanks to Novocain, my awesome beta. Please enjoy, and reviews are always welcome!

~M

**Chapter 6**

_i. little green_

_ii. on the way_

If there is one thing I've always liked about little brats, other than the fact that they have the makings of wonderful and almost cost-free scapegoats, it's the parties. Man, I _love_ kids' parties. They are big, messy blobs of boisterous fun - stinky as hell, and everyone with a basic understanding of how the Sun spins around Gaia knows that boisterous is my middle name. One of my many middle names, in fact, depending on who you ask and the financial or sentimental value of the item that is missing from their person. Yuffie Boisterous Kisaragi, at your service.

My wheels were, apparently, just as noisy. They rolled over a thick blanket of rubble, moist from the morning Edge mist that so many songs are not sung about because it is made up of a murderous percentage of toxic waste wafting in from old Midgar. Speaking of Midgar, my attire was straight out of the wardrobe of a slum hobo, layers upon layers of rough fleece with blankets draped over my shoulders and lower body to seal in a semblance of warmth. Edge took its winters very seriously, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't grateful for Tifa's last minute shoving of an oversized cap over my ears, even though by the time we had reached the market, it had engulfed most of my head and I could no longer see from one eye. I was blinking my other eye rapidly, trying to avert a slow, impending catastrophe while the cap slipped further and further.

"It's cold out here today," Tifa said, smiling as she rubbed her mittens together, no doubt to the effect of small electric currents rocking through her body in a pleasurable fashion. Such a sexy girl. It's the only reason I let her hang around me.

"_Really?_ I hadn't noticed." I rolled my tongue in my mouth. "Maybe because one of my brain hemispheres is frozen into a solid, yummy sorbet."

"Aren't you glad for Cloud's ski cap now?" she chirped, and underneath that goody two-shoes facade of hers, I could see her gloating. I've recently started investigating the scenario of Tifa being Jenova all along, still planning world domination and mass destruction. It's not as far-fetched as it seems. Think about it.

"No," I lied.

"You'd expect it to get warmer as the day goes by," Vincent mused from his honorary position behind me. "Maybe we should have waited a little longer."

"Nonsense! It must already be six in the morning - I doubt I could have waited another minute."

Tifa chuckled. "It's noon, Yuffie, you sleepyhead. Are you still annoyed with me for waking you up?" she teased.

"Nooo," I drawled. "I love me a sweet, subtle wake-up call from a vacuum cleaner in my ear. Don't you, Vincent?"

Instead of replying, Vincent would rather we crossed the street safely. It's the sort of thing I'd expect from someone as lame as him. He doesn't have his priorities straight.

"It wasn't _in _your ear- " Tifa started in an amused, exasperated sigh.

"She didn't sleep well last night," Vincent interrupted, always the buzzkill, as he tilted the chair back and gave a gentle tug upwards. Another road crossed, another mountain – sidewalk - climbed. I glanced at the brick pavement below me and the small, welcoming entrance of the store before us. Little flickering lights. A carton chef holding a fluffy white cake so humongous he should be buckling under its weight until half of it ended up splattered on his shoes. These things are never realistic. I swear, they think we young ones are stupid, just because we are fresher than fresh zucchini and they are jealous of our sparkling youthfulness. I bet they do something to the cakes, too, because last time I had one from that place it took the combined efforts of three men to pry me off the ceiling light I was dangling from. Sugar high, they said; I scoff at such remarks. That is _so_ not me – I'm much too poised and pretty and royal for that. These guys here, however, have become much craftier since the days of poisoned red apples, I'll give them that. These days, they caramelize the apples and hide them within folds of snowy whipped cream. I have it all figured out. I'm on to you, bitches.

I was stripped of my astute observational powers when darkness came crashing over my eyes like a thick stage curtain. Stupid cap with its stupid imperialistic ambitions. (Yeah, so I've read some books. You would have too, if you couldn't do much in the physical department.) I blew some air at the general direction of my left eye, but aerodynamics was never my strong suit. Pursing my lips, I cursed Tifa, Tifa's mother, Tifa's cap, and the cap's mother until two fingers clasped at the woolen fabric that was swallowing my head and pulled it back marginally, taking a couple of hairs with it - sacrificed at the hands of Vincent Valentine.

"Ow!" I said, light washing over me as I spoke. I looked at the man standing discreetly at my side, my savior from the dreaded humiliation of having to _ask_ for help, and all I got was the strange impression of a vegetable. Tall as he was, he was like a funky carrot, with a body of red where orange should be and black sprouts in lieu of green. Peering at him from such an angle, his collar made it impossible to see anything other than his eyes, somber and focused comme giant carrot meant business and didn't like to mess around if it could be avoided, but it wasn't a bad carrot. It wasn't a very fresh one, either - more like a pickle.

Mr. Pickle has a very nice ring to it, not to mention beautifully embarrassing connotations. I stored it in the back of my mind as future ammunition in a battle of wits.

For some reason I found myself still studying the parts of his face that I could see. What can I say? I may have found an interest in Natural History. He was neutral, too neutral, as though his mind had no real reason to be all there and was therefore free to wander or just lie dormant until something more challenging came up.

"Thanks," I finally mouthed at him begrudgingly, and I wouldn't be surprised if in his advanced age he had forgotten what I was supposed to be thanking him for. The chipper ring of the store bell alerted us to Tifa - who had apparently sprinted ahead – flinging the glass door open, then turning around and facing us, her face all flushed and grinning.

"Well? Hurry up and come on in!" she said, her voice laced with girlish excitement as she took a peek inside. You'd think it was her party. I couldn't blame her; being the center of attention is always pretty exciting. "They have such amazing stuff in here - Marlene is going to go nuts. Do you think we should go with something fruity and rich and white? But chocolate is nice too. Oh, some of these things are evil - they smell so delicious. I know there's this chocolate walnut cake with little chips in it..." She drifted off as she held the door open for The Princess and her entourage of one to enter.

I didn't want to tell her that kids don't exactly love walnuts, because _I_ do. Who cares what kids think? Nyuk, nyuk! More cake for me, poisoned or not. It's not like I would be climbing anything anytime soon, I thought, and at that moment I kicked myself for being mentally handicapped as well as just handicapped, and that was an equally awful thought. I pushed myself to come to a screeching halt. _Wait, was that kid staring at me right now? Why am I picking up on all these little vibes that I normally refuse to acknowledge?_

I _so_ didn't want to go there.

Stop. Brain, stop functioning _now_. Resume previous position.

Like a sip of bitter, undiluted grapefruit juice when you've just woken up and your mouth is dry, the taste of defeat lingers, and it gets worse and worse until each thought bothers you a little more, tiny mosquito bites stinging inside and on your chest. And worst of all, it brings out the_ Itch _again; the need to be a miserable, selfish bastard and scratch at a mental wall with your imaginary nails until you open up a vortex of feelings and half-finished thoughts.

It brings back the little green monster in me_. _

It reminds me of the fact that once I hadn't known what it's like to catch the odd glimpse or curious stare when you're _not _obsessively trying to lick your elbow. I certainly hadn't known you could go _aaaaah_ in silence, deep in your throat and in your heart, where there are no words. I wasn't supposed to know, but I do. No one was, not to the extent where it all eventually melts into a vague, mounting sense of horror. Not when it can be brought forth by the thought of a ceiling light - one that wasn't particularly pretty to boot.

I used to be unshakeable. Now I'm easier to unravel than a rope knot tied by a drunk Turk.

Backpedal, Yuffie. Fast. _One, two, three... One, two, three... Close your eyes. Think of parties, materia, and inbred chocobos with an eye on their beak and an appetite for their own feathers._

Slowly, carefully, I regained some of my balance. Demon-banishing is a tough job. I wouldn't want to be in Vincent's shoes, especially when they're so out of fashion it's not even funny. Seriously, the only purpose the pointy toes could possibly serve is to squash cockroach families nestled in tight spaces and corners, and, considering what his mansion is like, that's probably why he's still wearing them.

And so it was with my signature Gongagan monkey act on (even though the shopkeeper veto'd my decision to balance cupcakes on my nose) that I swallowed my wayward thoughts like sour tea and browsed for a cake to celebrate a young girl's budding life. If I pulled a face or two, I don't think anybody noticed. I'm too good at what I do. Well, I'm too good at everything I do, if you want to be particular, but I make the occasional attempt at modesty.

'Cause that's how Yuffie rolls.

Like, literally. I _roll_ on things.

My new fighting name could just as well be "Yuffie the Sinister Rolling Pin". It even has the potential to be upgraded to "Yuffie the Spinster Rolling Pin" eventually. Although not nearly as exuberant as I'd like, especially since it doesn't have the words _will_, _bruise,_ and _your_ _ass_ in it, it will have to do.

* * *

Now, lucky reader of Yuffie's Adventures on the Road of Self-Awareness, Tranquility, and Even More Awesomeness, I know you're aching for some action, especially the sort of disastrous action I've promised concerning how I managed to leave Tifa's bar and reassuring smile behind, as well as trash a little girl's party, scandalize half a dozen concerned parents and alienate myself from the people who care the most about me. This is not an easy tale to tell, mostly because at some point I have to admit to getting orange juice poured over my head and trying to tear a well-wishing card with my teeth, but at the same time, it signifies a turning point in my life.

In reality, it's all much more straightforward than it sounds, and I say this while painfully aware of how well I do flashy. I am practically made of glitter. But even _I _can't make cowardice look flashy. (Maybe a little.)

This is when I finally let go of all the pain and confusion in one sound explosion that left me with shreds of dignity and the pressing desire to run, which would leave me branded as though with a hot iron - like a small, squealing, commercialized pig - for a long time. This is when I first noticed that the stars always look the same, no matter where you're standing and looking from. It's also when I chose to turn my back on Tifa's open arms and beg a man who never wanted me to be his friend, a man who shouldn't have even been there, to take me to an inn.


End file.
